as he had been before, watching her with those strangely luminescent eyes. Those damnably beautiful eyes. Even as she thought it, she wondered what was happening to her. She was surely sophisticated enough not to fall tongue-tied at the feet of a stranger because he had blue eyes.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said. The accent was marked, and she wondered why she hadn’t been aware of it when he’d spoken from the shadows. Probably because she’d been too mortified by the idea that he’d witnessed Amberton’s attempted lovemaking.
“If I don’t want to talk to Gerald, who is a very old friend, it should be obvious that I don’t wish to talk to you.”
“I’m not Gerald,” he said, unmoving.
“I beg your pardon?” She had gaped at him like the veriest schoolroom miss. Yet she didn’t intend to be treated like one.
“I’m not Gerald,” he repeated obligingly.
“I know what you said. I didn’t mean that I didn’t hear you. I meant…”
He waited politely for her explanation. His hands were relaxed at his sides; his face perfectly composed.
“I meant I don’t knowwhy you said that—that you’re not Gerald. Obviously you’re not Lord Amberton.”
“My name is Raven,” he said calmly.
“Mr. Raven,” she said sweetly, acknowledging the information. Raven? What kind of name was Raven?
Raven inclined his head, not the least bit taken in by her politeness. She was certain by now to be wishing him in Hades.
“Go away,” she responded, turning once more to the railing.
Behind her she heard his soft laughter. He was laughing at her. Whoever he was—whatever he was.
“I’m not accustomed to gentlemen who refuse to do as they’ve been requested,” she said with frigid politeness.
“I didn’t imagine you were,” he said reasonably. “However, I have some business to discuss with you. I believe that this is an opportunity I may not be offered again.”
She could still hear the amusement in the deep voice.
“Business?” she repeated, turning once more to face him. “I assure you that I do not discussbusiness with strange men.”
“But I’m not a stranger. We’ve met before. I thought you might remember.”
“Of course I remember. I believe that Idid thank you for the donkey. And now, I really must insist that I be left alone. If you would be so kind.” She didn’t understand why she was trying to drive him away. She was honest enough to admit that his image had intruded frequently in her brain during the days since their first encounter. She had even envisioned meeting him again, but not while baring her soul on a dark and isolated balcony where no well-brought-up young lady should be found.
“I have a proposition to offer you,” Raven said, completely unperturbed by her repeated attempts to dismiss him.
She turned back to face him, appalled beyond words, feeling her skin flush hotly. He had witnessed Gerald’s very improper embrace and apparently believed that she would entertain…
“My father will have you horsewhipped,” she threatened.
The line of his lips tilted upward at the corners. “Notthat kind of proposition,” Raven corrected. “And I’m shocked that a gently reared young woman would believe that I’m about to offer her carte blanche. Iam surprised at you.” He made a smalltsking sound, shaking his head. The anger he’d felt watching the blond Englishman hold her was beginning to dissipate. She was obviously not the kind of flirt he’d feared when he’d followed the pair from the crowded ballroom.
“What do you want? Please state yourbusiness and then go away,” Catherine ordered. “You have the manners of a barbarian.”
“American,” he admitted pleasantly, knowing that she was probably correct—at least by her standards.
“Ah,” she said, giving him a mocking smile of agreement. “That explains so much.” American. No wonder he was unusual.
“I hope so,” Raven replied graciously, as if there had been no trace of sarcasm in her reply. “I’m not very familiar with the apparently intricate courtship rituals of your circle. So forgive me if I fail to say all that’s proper. I’m a man who believes in cutting to the heart. I’d like you to marry me.”
Despite her genuine sophistication, Catherine’s mouth dropped open slightly. She made a small strangled sound and then, controlling her shock, began to laugh, in honest amusement that he should believe he could appear out of the shadows—a stranger with all the panache of a red Indian and the physical presence of a prizefighter—and offer her marriage.
Raven made no outward reaction to her amusement. He hadn’t expected her to laugh, despite the fact that she knew nothing about him. Few people ever laughed at John Raven. If nothing else, his sheer size was too intimidating. But, he remembered, Reynoldshad tried to warn him.
The American waited with only a calm patience evident in his features. Eventually her laughter began to sound a little forced, even to her own ears, and she allowed it to die away.
His lips lifted slightly in what she was beginning to recognize as his version of a smile. A mocking smile.
“I’m glad I’ve amused you. I imagine you haven’t found an occasion for such a prolonged bout of laughter in months.”
“Youare amusing,” she taunted, knowing he’d seen through her. Could he possibly realize how he’d affected her at their first meeting? She forced sarcasm into her voice. “I can’t tell you how deliciously ridiculous I find you. And your suit. Quite the most unconventional suitor I’ve ever had, I assure you.”
“At least I’m not boring you,” he suggested softly.
She realized with surprise that he wasn’t. She was not— definitely not—bored and had not been for the last few moments.
“There are worse things than boredom,” she retorted mockingly, unconscious that she was repeating Amberton’s statement, which John Raven, of course, had certainly overheard.
“I doubt it,” he responded, exactly as she had. “At least we agree on something.”
“I would imagine that’s the only thing we are ever likely to agree on,” she said, opening her fan and moving it gracefully.
His eyes watched the play of her hands a moment and then lifted to study her features. He’d never seen a woman as beautiful. Despite her coloring, there was no scattering of freckles across the small, elegant nose. The long lashes that surrounded the russet eyes were much darker than the auburn hair. Almost certainly artificially darkened, he realized in amusement.
Catherine was glad of the covering darkness that hid the slight flush she could feel suffusing her skin at his prolonged examination. Her acknowledged beauty, which had been her heritage from her mother, had attracted the usual masculine attention, but he was tracing each individual element of her
